


Heat Rising

by PinupGhoul



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dance Clubs, F/M, OCs - Freeform, Sexual Content, Song references, lyrics, sort of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinupGhoul/pseuds/PinupGhoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A DJ working at one of Tony's clubs becomes tangled in Loki's plot to destroy New York. The biggest problem? She's got the hots for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heat Rising

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic, so naturally I don't own anything. Newly imported from Fanfiction.net, with new chapters soon! Thanks for reading!

The lights dimmed until nothing was left but an enveloping blackness. She breathed in once, savoring the silence of the perfect moment, before hitting 'play'. All in a second, the lights began flashing an erratic swirl of bright blue, purple, and green strobe lights, filling the darkness with their constant movement. As if given a silent command, the occupants of the club surged in time to the music, becoming a hectic blur of human motion. As far across the club as she could see, people had begun the party. That was always her favorite part of her job: the second when a hundred people, from different lives, all came together at the push of a button. As the DJ, she felt an incredible sense of power, as if she had united all these people with her own form of magic.

"I can feel the heat rising when you're near; you pull it off, boy, like you don't care. You're what I'm dreaming of, hey-oh, hey-oh, and I just can't get enough, hey-oh, hey-oh!" sang the high-tech speakers, complements of Stark Industries. The young music master pondered the fact that the owner of that company-and owner of this particular club-Tony Stark himself, rarely ever visited the club anymore. He must have been far too busy with that 'top secret' plan of his. Of course, anyone who paid enough attention to his egotistical stories would pick up on the fact that the so-called 'Avengers Initiative' had gone into affect. She wasn't quite sure what that entailed, save for the fact that it made even Iron Man nervous. Right now, she could care less for superheroes, initiatives, or Tony Stark. This was her world, in the pulsing lights, flailing bodies, and synthetic notes so sweet it made her want to cry.

Brushing her pastel-pink hair from her eyes, she set to adjusting the bass and the vocals, making sure the ground would shake halfway to Times Square. Her caramel-toned arms were free to mix every song she chose, unrestrained by the tight black tube-top that shone in the night with its hundreds of sequins. When her boss Tony had offered her the job, he had made sure she had the proper DJ wardrobe. From her red pumps to her purple hair-bow, she fit the part.

She scanned the dance floor, seeing nothing but satisfied patrons; she never failed to make people dance. Her blue eyes came to rest on a dark figure, lurking just beside the neon exit sign. Puzzled, she noticed that he hadn't so much as moved, let alone danced. That just wouldn't do. As she adjusted the lights in the figure's direction, the DJ deduced it was a man: tall, thin, with pale skin and inky black hair. His striking face wore a determined scowl, and he searched the room, as if looking for someone in particular. Almost glowingly green eyes met her gaze, and she flinched back awkwardly. It was never a good idea to be caught staring; someone might always misinterpret the look.

Switching the fading song to a catchy number by INFERNAL, the DJ focused her energy on forcing that man to dance. It was almost a personal insult, his refusal to be affected by her music. Ever since her youth, the woman had known that her connection to music was unique. Not only did she choose music based on her mood, but the music seemed to sense her mood, and play itself. A specific instance of this was at her senior prom, when the caught her boyfriend of two years making out with her best friend of a lifetime. As she furiously stormed back to the dance floor, the speakers shot out 'Cheater Cheater Best Friend Eater' without any prompting. Even the event DJ had no idea why it had cut off the previous song and blasted full volume.

That was only one example of a million. Her career choice, then, was an obvious one, and suited her well. The only problem was her parents, who weren't exactly supportive of what they had called her 'starving artist phase'. When their daughter caught a train to New York, they did precious little to stop her. She had always found that disappointing. Of course, if she had acted anything like her older sister, they would have given her a second thought.

Shrugging off her self-pity, the DJ returned her curious eyes to the man, who was still not dancing. He was facing the door, and slipped back behind the crowd of dancing people when an all-too-familiar person entered the club. It was Tony Stark, her boss, wearing a loose shirt and tie, and a cocky expression.

"Hey! Drinks on me!" he shouted over the noise, to which the crowd replied with enthusiastic cheering. He strutted over to her sound-sets, saying "Well, now I remember why I hired you." his eyes brushed over her silhouette, and she self-consciously adjusted the top of her shirt, which had fallen a bit too low. Tony had a way of making people feel like he was undressing them, just by looking at them. She wasn't really focusing on what he said next, instead searching out over the crowd for the dark man, who seemed to have vanished.

"I said," repeated Tony, "Care to dance?"

She wasn't in the mood for another of Tony's attempts to seduce her (as he did to everyone), but it was difficult to refuse. Stepping down into the crowd, she heard her speaker system start with,

"Am I throwin' you off? Nope. Didn't think so."

Ah, how fitting. Promiscuous. Well, that suited Tony Stark. Unfortunately, that meant they would be forced to dance to a song that was rather...promiscuous. Her moves were impressive, but the playboy had more practice with that sort of dancing, and was showing her up. The patrons of the club had parted around them, letting the two snake together in perfect time to the song. In times like this, she really despised when her music system decided to play particularly fitting songs. Her stretchy pants squeaked when she spun around him, shaking her hips to the music. As the lyrics faded, and only instrumental remained, he pulled her close, holding her up by one hand on her (very) lower back. Oh, please don't let him try and kiss me... she thought, and fortunately, she got what she wanted. The two were separated by the other dancers, and she went back to her table. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, reflective in the colorful lights.

When she was sure Tony had gone, she returned to searching for the mystery-man. As if by magic, he suddenly appeared, standing smugly by the wall where she had originally seen him. It was odd that he had disappeared when her boss was around, but had reappeared now that he wasn't. The DJ considered going over to talk to the stranger, but couldn't think of what to say. 'Hello, I was watching you stand there, and...you weren't dancing, and...' That sounded like a normal introduction. Breathing in to collect her thoughts, she decided it would be better to wait and see if he would come back tomorrow.


	2. Something's Going On

When the next night rolled around, the young DJ stood once again in front of the large crowd, music at her fingertips. Her hair was spiked and teal blue tonight, and glowed faintly in the strobe lights. She knew she should have been focusing on her task, on the job she was given, and yet her eyes kept wandering back to the corner of the room, where the stranger stood. He was here again tonight, still as a statue, his green eyes boring into her own. She swallowed at the intensity of his gaze. Eventually she would have to make a move. Something caught in the edge of her vision, and she turned to see him mouth words in her direction. What was he saying?

What...is...your...name?

She smirked, holding her index finger up as if to say "one minute!" As the song faded out, she switched to another track, a slower, less-dancy song.

"Layla, got me on my knees, Layla. Beggin' darling please, Layla. Darling won't you ease my worried mind?" sang the speakers, a perfect answer to the mysterious stranger's question. He raised one black eyebrow at her, and she nodded.

"Layla..." he mouthed, testing the name. This was progress, thought Layla. Now she knew he was really looking at her the whole time. The thought excited, and yet frightened her. Quickly she switched her system to play through a playlist she had created earlier, and slipped into the crowd. Dancing bodies pushed against her, bumping elbows and accidentally tripping her. Layla finally pushed through the mass, struggling to stay upright. She had no idea what she was going to say to this man, but figured the best place to start would be,

"Hello!" she blurted, coming face-to-face with the stranger. From this close, she could notice the details of his rather-attractive face. Bright green eyes, sneering lips, and ink-black long hair complemented his very pale skin. He wore a long-sleeve T-shirt, which accentuated his slim figure nicely, and plain black pants. She thought he looked a bit like a shadow.

"Hello, Layla." his voice was silky, and sounded foreign. British, maybe? It sent shivers dancing across her bare arms. Now she would actually have to think of something to say.

"How come you aren't dancing?" she settled for.

He smirked a charming sort of grin.

"I don't dance."

"Then, if you don't mind me asking, why are you at a dance club?" Did she sound as rude as she thought she had? Her heart beat nervously, matching the tempo of the dance music. She had only meant to ask. Luckily, the stranger didn't seem to notice.

"Looking for someone." he said, distractedly.

"Sulking by the door isn't the best way to flirt, y'know." Layla shrugged. He seemed vaguely amused by the thought.

"No, I'm searching for someone I need to speak to. Urgently."

"Here. Why don't you have a seat at the bar, and you can tell me about it." Layla offered, gesturing to the mostly-empty bar. She took a seat, and the stranger followed suit.

"Who are you looking for?"

"A Mr. Tony Stark." replied the stranger solemnly, accepting the drink Layla placed in his hand. He took a sip of the amber liquid, not breaking eye contact.

"Hmm," Layla thought aloud, "Even though this is his club, he isn't here very often. Must be busy with 'official business'. I could tell him something for you, if ya like..."

The stranger sat up taller in his seat. "You have communication with him?!"

"Uh, yeah. He's kinda a family friend. And my boss."

"Very interesting..." he pondered, over the edge of his glass. He set it down upon the counter before continuing, "A charming proposition, but I suppose it would be a discussion suited for a much more...private location."

"Oh, a secret message." Layla nodded conspiratorially. This was getting sketchy. She thought a bit, unable to decide how the stranger would interpret her next words. "So, where are you staying? We could go back to your place and discuss." She tried not to make that as awfully flirty as it sounded. He didn't seem offended (or particularly aroused, either) by her suggestion, and instead informed her,

"I currently am not 'staying' anywhere. I come and go as I please." The stranger explained haughtily. It seemed that his voice grew silkier the more he drank, and Layla found herself watching as the golden liquid, like the nectar of the gods in stories of old, met his wet lips. She shivered.

"You don't live anywhere?! Y'know, we could talk at my place, if you like."

"That would suffice." he agreed, standing to follow her out of the club. She hailed them a taxi, clutching her bare arms against the air, which was unnaturally cool for September. When the two were about halfway back to Layla's apartment, she broke the awkward silence by asking the driver to turn on the radio. He did so, allowing the exhilarating sounds to fill the small vehicle. Nothing could calm her nerves like music could; it erased from her mind everything but the beats, lyrics, and sweet sounds of escape. The stranger was oddly still, as he had been in the club. Cold, almost unwelcoming.

'No, I don't even know your name, so I will call you medicine; you can ease my pain. I don't wanna feel the same; tonight I need your medicine to put out the flame. Don't even know your name...' sang the radio.

Suddenly, a horrible realization hit her, shaking her from her trance-induced trance.

"I never asked your name!" she exclaimed, mentally face-palming.

He smirked. "Call me Loki."


	3. Start It Up

"So, you're named from Greek mythology? Cool!" she smiled. The cab driver rolled his eyes.

"Norse, actually."Loki corrected, a half-smirk raising his lips.

"Heh, right." Layla said, running a hand through her teal hair, embarrassed. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

At last, the cab pulled up to a large apartment complex, which was sleek and modern against the city skyline. Layla paid the driver, and stepped out onto the curb. When Loki was standing beside her and the cab drove away, she led him through the doors and into a silvery central lobby. She pressed a series of buttons on a keypad...4-2-2-1...and said into a speaker box "Layla Marshall, fourth floor." Waiting for an elevator, she sneaked covert glances in her guest's direction. Had she really picked up a stranger from the club and brought him back to her apartment? That was the kind of thing that happened in music videos, not in reality.

They stepped into the elevator, waiting til it reached the fourth floor. Down the hall and on the left was Layla's apartment, 221. She fumbled in her purse for her keys, and after successfully locating them, opened the door. Immediately, she wished she had cleaned it beforehand. It wasn't filthy, but the carpet hadn't been swept, and there was a thin layer of dust on the windowsills.

"Well, come in." she offered, opening the door wide. The interior of her apartment was simply decorated, with two rooms ( a master bedroom with a bathroom, and the living room) both done in (what used to be) white carpet. A salvaged, blue floral couch faced a boxy TV with a VCR, of all things. There was a side table covered in books and magazines, and a kitchenette.

"Have a seat, if you like." Layla said, pointing to the couch. She suddenly felt very self-conscious, and pulled at the hem of her gold-leather jacket. He sat, looking at her expectantly. What do I say? What do I do? She panicked.

"Want some hot chocolate?" she asked lamely, shrugging her shoulders. Her guest, Loki, smiled a thin smile.

"That would be wonderful."

Thankful for an excuse to leave the room, Layla went in to the kitchenette, pulling out two yellow mugs. She filled both with milk and put them in the microwave. Leaning against the cupboard, she let out a long sigh. There was really no good reason to be so anxious, she told herself. He was just a person, and anyway, he had come to tell her something. At least she wouldn't have to provide the conversation. The microwave beeped, and she took out the steaming mugs, mixing in the instant hot cocoa packet. She put a spoonful of whipped cream on top, and brought them out into the living room. There, Loki sat calmly, upright with perfect posture. He seemed to find nothing odd nor uncomfortable about the whole situation. He accepted the hot chocolate with a quiet 'thank you'.

After a second, Layla began, "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

He took a slow sip of his drink before replying, "I'm quite certain Mr. Stark knows of me, or he shall, as soon as you relay my plans to him. No need to tell him my name."

"What should I say, then?"

"Tell him, if you would, that his previous notion about the location of the attack is false. Tell him instead that he should expect the worst of it on the infamous Broadway street."

Layla sat straight up. "Whoa whoa whoa...attack?! What is this? I don't like this!"

Loki's once-silky voice was like ice when he said, "If you fail to pass on this anonymous information, innocent people will die."

"What does this make me, then? An accomplice?"

"Of course not. You'll be a hero." he reassured.

"And how is it you know about this 'attack'?" she doubted.

"I've told you all I can." Loki simply replied.

Layla stood up, taking her already-empty mug to the kitchen. "This is nuts." she muttered to herself.

"Fabulous hot chocolate." he called from the other room, casually.

So this is why people don't pick up strangers. They could turn out to be potential criminals, she thought. What have I gotten into?

"Might I implore you to grant me one night on your couch, milady?"

No. "Sure. Let me grab you a blanket." Layla pulled a fleece blanket out of a closet, handing it to him in exchange for his empty mug. Their hands brushed, and she felt a momentary chill. It's his skin. He's just cold, that's all. After holding a mug of hot chocolate...yeah... she lied to herself unconvincingly.

"Thank you, Layla. It's been a pleasure."

"G'night." she said over her shoulder as she hurried down the hall to her room. She shut and locked the door behind her with shaking fingers. Facing the large mirror on her wall, she examined her reflection, thinking perhaps she would find visible signs of insanity there. Surely that was the only explanation for the way she had been acting. Where was her logical thought? Her common sense? The girl in the mirror shook her head at Layla, mimicking her disappointment in herself. Real Layla quickly changed into an oversized The Killers t-shirt, and slipped off her skinny jeans, before heading to the bathroom sink to wash off her makeup. She flipped on the radio at a low volume, waiting for it to adjust to her talent. Sure enough, a Lady Gaga song quietly sang, "He's a wolf in disguise, but I can't stop staring in those evil eyes." Rolling her eyes, she brushed her teeth, letting the sound of water momentarily drown out the music. "That boy is a monster, m-m-m-monster, he ate my heart, he a-a-ate my heart out."

Why, radio, why? It seemed to know her mind better than she did, pointing out the feelings Layla was hoping she could cover up and forget about. Finishing her routine, she peeked her head out the door, finding her mysterious stranger where she had left him. He was asleep on the couch, covered in her blanket, wearing an expression of utter peace. Despite herself, Layla smiled. She crawled into her bed finally, forcing her mind to settle as she succumbed to sleep.


	4. My Emergency

When at last Layla rolled out of bed to the sound of her alarm, she thought perhaps all that had occurred the night before had been a dream. She dressed, brushed her teeth, combed out her hair, and went to open the door. It didn't open. It was then that she remembered she had indeed locked it, which mean that her 'dream' was more than likely real.

Cautiously, she walked into the hallway; her breath hitched when she saw the long black hair of her stranger, sleep-tossed over the pillow on the arm of the couch. She cleared her throat, seeing if he was awake. He wasn't; she admired for a quick second the state of absolute chaos in which he slept. One arm was thrown over his chest, and the other hung off the couch. The blanket had fallen off his legs, and Layla moved to cover him again. He was rather beautiful when he slept, she thought as she went into the kitchenette to make some breakfast.

She was halfway through making the second omelet when he awoke.

"Morning!" she called, waving with the spatula, she turned back to the food preparation, not seeing as Loki came up behind her, dark and silent as a shadow.

"Good morning." he replied. Layla nearly flung the omelet into the air as she jumped, thoroughly startled. To calm her, he set a hand on her shoulder, which made a completely different sort of shock go through her body.

"Want some breakfast?" she managed to squeak out.

"You're too kind." Loki answered. Layla couldn't help but notice that when he spoke, it was as if to royalty. The thought made her feel oddly special. She blushed. After handing him his plate, and sitting down with her own, she asked,

"What are you gonna do today? I mean, I'll have to talk to Tony for you, and also explain why I left work randomly. You can come, if you like."

He shook his head vehemently. "It would be better if you were not seen in my presence. It is in your best interest, I assure you."

"Suit yourself." she shrugged, finishing her food and washing the dishes. "You can stay here...the shower's down the hall on the left, and the washer and dryer are on the third floor. Let me give you the spare room key."

Well, that's a great idea, chastised her brain, leave the strange man a key, and let him stay while you go out.

Layla grabbed her black shoulder-bag from her room, handed Loki the extra key, and left, before she could make another foolish decision. She wanted to mentally face-palm at her own gullibility.

Catching a taxi to the club, she was astounded to find that it was locked. She knocked on the door, which was answered by a blonde man she had never seen before. He was incredibly tall, and completely ripped, as far as she could tell. His long blonde locks hung down to his shoulders, framing a widely-smiling face.

"This one is allowed, is she not, Man of Iron?" His voice was like thunder, shaking the glass in the club windows, which had been covered with blinds. Tony called from across the room,

"Who, Layla? Why not. Then she'll have an audience when I fire her."

Layla gulped, then stepped into the club, which looked so unfamiliar by day. A large table sat in the center of the dance floor, at which several chairs sat. All those chairs, save for that of the man who had opened the door, were occupied. She stood awkwardly by the table. To her left sat Tony Stark, and beside him, another buff blonde man. He courteously extended a hand, which she accepted.

"Steve Rogers." he said.

"Layla Marshall." she replied.

Steve began to introduce the others to her. "That's Dr. Banner, and Ms. Romanov...

"Natasha." interrupted Natasha.

"...that's Natasha, and next to her is Clint, and, well, you know Tony, and that's Thor."

Layla made a little sound. Thor and Loki? That couldn't be a coincidence, could it? She was about to say something, but changed her mind at the last second.

"Pleasure to meet you all." Then she addressed Tony. "I just stopped by to apologize for last night."

From the other side of the table, Dr. Bruce Banner exclaimed, "Oh, Tony! Gross!"

"Doesn't she work for you?" added Clint Barton.

It took Tony a brief second to catch up, but when he did, he sputtered, "You know that's not what she meant!"

"I left the club early last night without asking." clarified a mortified Layla. She couldn't bear that they had assumed she and Tony had been up to...things. Mentally shuddering, she reminded herself of the other reason she was here. "I, um, also had a message for you. It's supposed to be a secret, but I guess it affects all of you." Some of the teammates looked alarmed.

"Yeah, you guys are the Avengers, aren't you? Tony was talking before about the Initiative, and, well...he never really told me, I just put it together." Layla rambled, knowing she was treading on thin ice, spilling secrets she had eavesdropped upon.

"Go ahead, Ms. Marshall." encouraged Steve.

"Okay," she said, taking a shaky breath, "There's going to be an attack on Broadway. I don't know if that means anything to you, but...that's all I've got."

"Who told you this?!" demanded Bruce, standing from his seat. Immediately, Thor had a hold on his arm, gently pushing him back into his seat. Natasha looked a tad nervous at his outburst. When he had calmed again, Layla had begun to shiver.

"He...wanted to remain anonymous."

"That's not good enough. He's obviously got something to hide." stated Steve. Tony turned his attention to the DJ.  
"By any chance, was he tall, thin, greasy black hair...?"

"He speaks of my brother, Loki." simplified Thor, not noticing the full-body paralysis that seemed to hit Layla.

"Who's he?" she managed, hoping her tone was more even than it felt.

"Loki is my younger brother. He believes himself the rightful king of Asgard, and plans to take this planet in retribution." Thor's words finally sank in, and Layla fought the urge to bolt out the door.

"Asgard? Like, another planet? So...you're, what? Gods?"

Thor nodded casually, but quickly became serious. "If you have spoken with my brother, I must know his whereabouts. He is dangerous."

"Yeah, I know where he is," whispered Layla, "he's at my apartment."


	5. Intimate Connection

She came to in the darkness, blinking away her unconsciousness. The room was unfamiliar; she rested on a designer couch, and a large hand was smoothing back her hair.

"Wha...?" she wondered groggily, trying to sit up. The hand gently pushed her back down, and from somewhere across the room, a light flicked on. When Layla's eyes readjusted, she found she still didn't know where she was. To her surprise, the hand in her hair belonged to the buff blonde, Thor. His name brought forth memories of the entire conversation from earlier.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit! Layla thought, Loki's still in my apartment! They're gonna find him and...Wait, what? Why should she care if they find him? He was dangerous, apparently. He had planned some sort of attack. Maybe she hit her head when she blacked-out. That must be it.

Her head sorted through this information at rapid speed, as she began to realize she hadn't truly been unconscious, just numb from shock. She then returned to focus on the fact that Thor was still smoothing her hair. He showed such care, for someone his size, and she leaned back as she had instructed. From the doorway, Tony Stark was watching the scene.

"Great, blondie. Your girlfriend's alive. Now back off." He turned to Layla for a second, asking, "You like my couch? You've been on it for about four hours."

Oh, it was Tony's couch. EW! Tony's couch!

Layla practically dove off, shuddering. She didn't want to imagine the kind of things that occurred on playboy Tony Stark's couch.

"Problem?" he smirked. Layla rolled her eyes. "You know," he thought aloud, "If you do a little favor for us, you can probably keep your job."

"What's the favor?" she asked suspiciously.

"Babysitting." he answered cryptically. "Babysitting for bad guys." Suddenly, Steve appeared, already in full suit.

"Oh." was all Layla managed. She hadn't recognized him earlier without the mask.

"He means that while we set up a perimeter, and plan an attack..."

"This isn't a war, Cap." mumbled Tony under his breath.

"...we need you to keep Loki distracted. Don't let him leave the apartment."

Layla gulped. "I thought he was dangerous. You want me to hold him back from his plans of world domination, or whatever? How do I distract him, anyway?!" She hated the sound of panic in her own voice. Tony grinned, a disconcerting gesture to anyone who knew him.

"Use your feminine charms, Layla." He did that annoying look-her-up-and-down motion again, and self-consciously, she blushed.

"Tony!" exclaimed the rather innocent-minded Steve. He was blushing more than Layla.

"Whatever. I'll figure out something. How long do you need me to keep him busy?" She flinched at her poor choice of words. Tony snickered, Steve punched his arm scoldingly, and Thor looked somewhat...sad?

"A couple hours, at least. Plenty of time for..." he wiggled his eyebrows. Layla sighed in unison with Steve, and grabbed her purse, which was conveniently by the side of the couch. She did her best storm out, though she got a bit lost in the many hallways of Stark Tower. She hadn't known that was where they brought her. Taking the elevator to the lowest level, then hailing another taxi, she eventually made her way back to the apartment, sucking in a nervous breath before turning her key. A voice greeted her before she saw him.

"Hello, Layla. I'd no idea you planned to be out so long; I would have accompanied you had I known." There was something smug in his expression, now that she could see it, as if he knew things hadn't gone as planned. He stood tall, formidable, in a long black coat.

"Where are you going?" she asked in a thin voice.

"Out. Perhaps I can find a more...trustworthy host." His voice was inky, smooth, and sharp all at once. He was angry, no, furious.

"I..." Layla tried, but in a second, he was up against her, a hand twisting around the base of her neck. Her eyes widened in shock and fear. Up close, he was paradoxically a wall in her way, and a hazy shadow. With all her senses heightened, she took in the heady scent of his cologne; it smelled like ice. She panicked when tiny black smudges threatened the edge of her vision; she was losing air, losing her cool for the second time that day. In the back of her mind, she heard the snarky voice of Tony taunting,

"Use your feminine charms, Layla."

As much as she had scoffed earlier, right now her oxygen-deprived brain thought it was fantastic advice. Going up onto tiptoe, she forced her lips against his, taking advantage of his surprise to slip her tongue between his thin lips, moving against him until his grip moved. It hadn't loosened, only moved higher to clutch at her brightly-colored hair, pulling her to him. He fought back with his tongue, dominating with a fury, stating in the kiss that he was king.

I should stop now. He's not trying to kill me now...C'mon Layla...Said the logical part of her brain. Soon, though, this part was shut off as his other hand slid under the back of her shirt, brushing over the goosebumped skin. Involuntarily, she moaned lightly against his mouth; she didn't realize she was setting him on fire from within, desire easily clouding his anger.

"Layla..." he gasped, breaking apart for air. Loki's lips were red from the force of Layla's own, and a certain desperation shone in his eyes. She understood his silent plea perfectly, and all she could do was nod. He took that as permission, and roughly shoved her against the nearest wall. Layla felt her blood boil, her face flushing, heat rising. Loki's slender hands traced graceful patterns along her arms as he slowly slid the fabric off of her body. Her chest flushed as well; she was lust incarnate.

His eyes wandered over her appreciatively, taking in the sight. She took advantage of his stunned expression to push the coat off his shoulders, furiously settling on the buttons of his white dress shirt. It fell to the ground, and she let her hands smooth over his pale, toned chest. He was cold like marble beneath her inquisitive fingertips, though his heart was beating erratically. The tempo reminded her of song she had heard once;

Baby, keep it coming, I don't want this to end...Ooh, what you're doing, baby, do it again! Be my intimate connection.

How appropriate.

Loki's fingers deftly opened the clasp on her purple-lace bra, letting it slide sensually down her body. His lips toyed with her neck, down her collarbone, and across the top of her chest, as his hands traveled lower, kneading her caramel flesh. Little sighs slipped from her parted lips as her face flushed pinker. She tugged roughly at his hair, urging his lips to imitate his skilled hands, and he obliged, tortuously slowly. He laved his infamous silver tongue across a pert nipple, sucking it between his teeth with a bit more force than necessary. Layla arched toward him, whimpering for more. One hand fumbled blindly at his belt, eventually able to pull off his trousers completely. She found herself impressed with the sight before her; a supposed god, practically at her mercy in his lust. It wouldn't be wise to tease him now, which is exactly why she did. She traced the outline of his obvious need through tight black pants, smirking when he shuddered beneath her ministrations. Loki had already slipped her skirt over her hips, revealing panties that matched her bra. She blushed and bit her lip as he tugged them down with one finger; she hoped he hadn't seen the wet patch in the center. Judging by the soft, pleased sound he emitted, he must have. She felt uncomfortable being the only one fully undressed, so she quickly remedied the problem, gasping a little in awestruck surprise. One of the perks of being otherworldly, she supposed as she rid him of the constraining clothes. He was perfect, like some sort of sculpture...like...a god. Though it felt like centuries, the pause lasted only a few seconds before the two became a mess of flesh on flesh, teeth nipping, and hands roaming all across each other's revealed forms. Her skin was hot against his frigid body, and the contrast made her shiver, trying desperately to move closer.

Later on, the only clear thought she would remember was: the bedroom is too far away. Instead, she allowed Loki to lead her to the couch, pushing her deep into the pillows and covering her completely. Again and again he pillaged her mouth with his tongue, swallowing her moans as his fingers found her center, and teasingly slipped inside. Layla's eyes fluttered shut, and her nails dug into the smoothness of her lover's shoulder-blades. He twisted his fingers harshly before drawing out, repositioning himself so that he rested between her parted legs. Leaning down to kiss away the pain, he forced himself deeply into her, holding himself back until she was ready. Layla's hand had a death-grip in his hair, and she pulled him down, whispering in his ear a very demanding "Move!"

With a smirk, he did just so, pulling out painfully slow before slamming all the way back in. She cried out sharply, but didn't tell him to stop. He could feel pleasure tingling through his body, pooling ever lower, and knew she was as ready as he. Loki kissed her forehead in an uncharacteristically gentle motion and said, "Let go, Layla." That was all it took; her head hit the pillow as her back arched almost in half. Her world, normally filled with sound and color, went white for a split-second. The sight of her, his lovely submissive mortal spread beneath him, entranced with her blinding pleasure, brought Loki to the edge. He came with a cry of her name, spilling into her and collapsing against her bare chest.

The air was thick with steam and sighs as the two regained their lost breath. "Wow." was all Layla could manage, after she could formulate words. Loki agreed by laughing, pulling off her and pulling his discarded clothing back on. He helped her dress, tenderly kissing her shoulders as he clipped the bra.

It seemed as though her distraction had worked, though Layla had long since forgotten that was the purpose. That is, until the fire had returned to Loki's green eyes and he made for the door determinedly.

"Stay." begged Layla. She hadn't said it as though she was trying to destroy his plans; she said it as she meant it. "Stay, please?" she repeated. With a sigh, the god turned, coming to sit by her side on the couch.


	6. Ricochet

Chapter 6: Ricochet

The morning after, she abandoned the god in her bed and set about making coffee. Like usual, she opened the door to get the newspaper. And almost collided with Captain America.

“Captain!” she said, instinctively crossing her hers to cover her flimsy tee shirt. She merely stood there, staring in shock.

Steve averted his eyes politely. “Sorry, miss.” And then, “Is he here?”

She nodded before she had a chance to think. Stupid, she chastised herslf, now he’ll think this was all a trap. “Actually, maybe it’s best if you don’t come in.”

“Don’t worry. Tony—Iron Man, er, your boss—has the other exit covered. You’re not in any danger. The whole team’s here.”

Half-awake, Layla’s brain began to contemplate that statement. There was something odd about the Avengers at her door, a Norse god in her bed, and her—in the center of it all—in her pajamas.

She snuck a glance at the far window which opened onto the fire escape, and swore she caught a glimpse of red and gold.  
“I...um…” she tried to close the door.

Steve held it open with one arm. “I don’t want to do this…” he said, as he easily pushed past her and into the apartment.

He was quickly followed by Black Widow, who didn’t bother with being apologetic. Through a radio on Steve’s hip, she heard Tony’s voice, crackling with static and issuing the command to move in.

All Layla could do was tag along behind as they burst through the bedroom door. She couldn’t quite see over Steve’s broad shoulders, but she yelled, “Loki—look out!”

There was a sudden chill at her elbow, and then a brief pinch. In the time it took her to see what the cause was, she found she was no longer in her apartment. Instead, she stood off the shoulder of the highway, sun beaming down at her. “What?”

“There you are,” Loki said, normally brooding expression replaced with relief. “I do apologize for the hurried exit.” With a snap of his fingers, a bundle of Layla’s belongings (purse, phone, clothes) appeared in his hands. “You’ll be needing these.”

Her vision swam, mind struggling to wrap around what she had just seen, just experienced. “Where am I going?”

“With me, if you so choose,” he answered in a low voice, sounding hopeful. “I must leave this place.” As he spoke, a sleek, black Jaguar XJR pulled off to stop beside them. He opened the passenger door for her.

Standing at the edge, watching him, she knew she would follow. Her heart knew it long before her mind did. It guided her, hands full of everything she now owned, into the leather seat. She buckled her seatbelt. He got in the driver’s seat.

Perhaps it should have seemed strange, the teleportation, summoning her belongings, the car arriving without a driver. Perhaps it hadn’t caught up to her yet. Her mind was not part of the equation. She felt the rhythm of her heartbeat, pounding like a bass drum, headed for a drop, and it was enough.

He started the car, let it purr in his grasp, before pulling out into the lane, driving her far from her life here.

Over the roar of traffic, she asked, “Do you think they’ll find us?”

He sped up, making her grip the door handle. “Oh, eventually. Why not put up a fight?”

She relaxed into her seat, grinning at him. He flashed a smile in return. “Can we win?”

“Doubtful.” He was still smiling as he said it, near laughing now. She felt no reason to fear.

They rode in happy silence, foolhardy, matching grins on their faces, city air whistling through half-open windows. Layla wondered how she would ever miss the club, now, with all this new music pumping through her veins. It was thrilling, all lights and neon, all thudding drums and soaring vocals, reaching, reaching for that crescendo, then slamming hard and washing over her, flooding her.

She could see he felt it, too; the tap of his fingers on the wheel, the light in his eyes showed music within.

Traffic thinned as they fled the city, and finally the silence became uncomfortable.

“I want to know you,” he said, not looking at her.

She thought the phrasing of that statement was odd, more so than his usual formal Asgardian manner. “Know me how? There’s not much to know.”

“Certainly there is. Everyone has a story. If we shall be traveling in each other’s company—which I sincerely hope we shall—I’d like to know yours.”

“Oh, um,” she started, then ran out of words. Since she moved to New York, her own personal story had changed so many times. Everyone she talked to knew (or thought they knew) a different version. Maybe it was time she told someone the real one. But where to start? “Ok, what would you like to know?”

He fixed her with an intimidatingly curious stare. “Where were you born? How did you come to be here? What is your connection to those heroes?” He couldn’t quite keep the sneer out of his voice.

“Well, I started out in Arizona when I was a kid,” she began, taking a steadying breath, “and I moved to New York as soon as I turned eighteen. I’ve been into music my whole life—” Here, she rolled up the cuff of her pajama shorts, revealing a black ink tattoo that wrapped around her upper thigh.

Being a gentleman, Loki did not look so closely as to read it, instead asking what it said.

“As a kid, I got a lot of shit for/liking my music, but what is it for?/”You should listen to this, because it gives more”/Yeah, but it sounds lousy on the dancefloor,” she recited, to his amusement. “Song lyrics. I was young and stupid...I’m still young and stupid, but at the time it seemed like a good idea.”

“Who is the other person? In the song?”

“That’s a long story.”

“We have all the time in the world.”


	7. Leave It All Behind

Chapter 7: Leave It All Behind

When she finally pinpointed the start of her story, she began, “Before my parents met, my dad was in a band. They traveled all over the country, apparently, but he gave that all up when he met my mom, and had my sister and I. I guess he never really gave it up, though. My mom worked to pay the bills—she’s a nurse—and he went on tour. He missed almost everything that happened while we grew up. When he came home, though, in the off-seasons, it was great. It was better than great. Mom took him back every time, and he always tried to make up for the times when he wasn’t home by doing all kinds of fun stuff. He bought us toys, took us on trips, and as a kid, that’s all it took for us to love him. He taught me about music, shared his passion; my mom hated it. She thought I’d turn out to be like him.”

“Is he proud of you, then? For what you’ve become?” he asked gently.

“Something happened as I got older. He, well, I guess I stopped seeing it as cool that he was always gone. I didn’t see him as perfect anymore, and that’s the main reason he wanted us around. He needed fans. I got my own taste in music.”

“He never hurt you, did he?”

“No, nothing like that. Just...the novelty wore off and we found out we didn’t like each other. I started messing around with music and he said I’d never make a life with it, that what I was making wasn’t worth it. Then that got him any my mom arguing about his life, and it all went downhill from there. I used to wish I could be more like my sister. She was always the favorite growing up, with scholarships pouring in before she was even out of freshman year. She had the right idea, and got out of there, though she’s still in Arizona. A couple summers later, I moved to New York. It broke my mom’s heart, I think, but at least she has my sister nearby.” She thought maybe she was rambling now, so she looked over to Loki. 

He watched her, glancing back and forth between the road and her eyes. “What then, sweet?”

The unexpected term of endearment made her dizzy. “Then I made a long series of mistakes, tattoo included. I thought it said “I’m a responsible adult who can make her own decisions”. Bad ones, apparently. But then my savings ran out and I had to get a job. My mom’s best friend in college basically owns the city, and I’d met him a few times growing up, so I thought maybe I could work for him and make music on the side, but as it happened, he was looking for a DJ. I fell in love with my job. I don’t really tell people this kind of stuff.”

“I feel better for knowing it,” he said. 

She felt better for telling it, but she didn’t say that part out loud. 

It was several hours before he pulled over at a truck stop so she could use the restroom and buy food. He didn’t need to bother with that trivial mortal stuff, she supposed, being a god and all. 

As soon as they were underway, she turned his question back upon him. “What's your story?”

“It is far too long to tell.”

“I told you mine and it was long.”

“Think centuries, Layla.”

She paled a little, remembering who she was talking to, but quickly recovered. “There’s a good place to start. How old are you?”

He smirked. “Fourteen centuries.”

“What? No way!” 

“Would I lie to you?”

She had to think about that. “How do you keep yourself from getting bored with everything? You must have done everything at least once.”

“I seem to have a, a knack, you might say, for inventing new ways to get into trouble.” He gave her such a lascivious sort of smirk that she couldn’t help blushing. She felt hot from the tips of her ears, down to her chest. 

“Layla Marshall scandalized? That must be a first.”

“That’s not even my name,” she said, mostly to distract herself from his unfortunately debonair charms.

“What?” He was taken by surprise, and it knocked the flirtation right off his face. 

“Marshall,” she said, “I made it up. Saw it on an amp in the club’s back storage room. Tony knows, but I guess he just thinks I’m using a stage name or something. It’s Montes, by the way. Layla Montes.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Montes.” He extended her the hand not on the wheel, taking hers and kissing it gently. 

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

They left New York state and kept driving, no destination in mind. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they stayed silent. She dozed on and off in the passenger’s seat, hot sun lulling her to sleep. When she woke herself, she looked around, finding they drove through unfamiliar territory. 

“Good morning,” Loki said, not looking at all tired. 

“Where are we?”

“Heading South.”

“Couldn’t you just...zap us there?” she asked. 

“Where is “there”?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing the opportunity to be near you. It is entirely possible you will not stay with me when we reach our destination."

“No,” she laughed, “That’s not possible at all.”

He brightened immediately. “Well, then. Where shall we go? Say the word…”

“Hmm.” Where to go? Not backward. There was no sense in going back to either of her old lives. 

Inspiration struck—she turned on the radio, opened her heart, and let the music decide. 

“...if we drive all night, we can make it by the morning/and no one has to know if we decide to go/oh, what d’ya say we leave for California?”

She gasped, and her shock melted into a smile. “What d’ya say?”

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has made it this far. This is the end of this story, but I'm always up for writing more. Send me prompts! I love that kinda thing! Peace out, and have a fabulous day. :)


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